Streetcorner Chains
by Perivates
Summary: Maybe freedom was really just another word for invisible chains. [KyleStan, past StanWendy] Companion fic to Tethering Masks.


A/N: This is a sisterfic to _Tethering Masks_; please read that story first, as this one probably won't make as much sense without the context. I may eventually do a Kyle-perspective fic as well, so that everyone's voice is heard.

**Streetcorner Chains**_  
_

She stood, silent and frozen on the streetcorner. The early April wind whipped around Wendy, caught her hair and played with it, but she paid it no mind. It didn't matter; very little did these days.

Why was she standing there? Oh... that's right. The bus. She was waiting for the bus. The bus to where?

She should have been more frustrated at her inability to remember anything, she knew this, and yet she didn't care, not really. It was too hard to care anymore. It always resulted in getting hurt, so what was the point?

Caring was what had gotten her into this state in the first place, and while it seemed easier to simply not care anymore, she knew it was fake. She knew that beneath the calm superficiality of it all, a raging storm of emotion was lurking just beneath the surface, waiting to be unleashed. But she couldn't handle that, she was afraid to, and so remaining detached was the only way she could keep herself sane.

But even if she knew there were those emotions lying just below the surface, so close and easy to access, she didn't want to think about them too much. Because then, then they might swell up and overwhelm her and possibly swallow her whole. It was like thinking about a lake monster - you knew it was down there, hiding just beneath the placid surface, and even if you didn't know exactly what it was, you knew better than to go prodding at it just to figure it out.

And yet, she still thought about it sometimes, even though she knew it was dangerous. Like now, as she stood out in the cold, awaiting some forgotten future. But it wasn't the future that bothered her just then. It was the past. Specifically, her past with Stan.

Wendy had loved Stan. Didn't she? She did, she still loved him... They had been meant for one another, she was sure of it; she had been for a long time. But thinking back on their earlier years, she couldn't escape the immense guilt she felt only years later for playing such fickle games with Stan's heart, and she genuinely regretted it. But that was her own fault, wasn't it? She deserved this, didn't she?

_Didn't she?_

Maybe things could have turned out differently. Maybe if she'd acted sooner, told him how much she still cared, or if she'd put up more of a fight when she'd needed to. Kyle had certainly put up one hell of a fight, of that much she was sure. Maybe Kyle had deserved to win Stan's heart after all...

But... no. No, it wasn't that simple, it wasn't that pure. Maybe that was the conclusion Stan had arrived at, part of the reason he had ended up making the choice that he did, but Wendy knew better. She'd seen things that Stan didn't. It would have been hard not to, for all the conflict between herself and Kyle in those hellish months.

It had begun as a tense, tacit resentment, those first weeks. They were still mapping out their pieces then, surveying the chess board that only they could see, waiting and watching. And then Kyle had made his move. Wendy had kept up with him for a while, a parry for every thrust, but she was always one step behind, always on the defensive against his offense, and the both of them were fully aware of it. Still, she had pressed on, vying for Stan's ultimate affections. Kyle must have resented her persistence, because his relatively detached approach towards dealing with her personally had soon turned to a more direct type of aggression.

He'd caught up with her in the halls once, and all but cornered her against the wall of lockers with the sheer force of his presence, never needing to lay a hand on her. He spoke quietly so that only she could hear, and with a calmness in his voice that would have been almost eerie if the fire in his eyes hadn't betrayed him. "You'll never have him, Wendy. I won't let you."

She didn't want to talk to him, didn't want to be anywhere near him, but she had little choice in the matter. "I have him right now, don't I?" Brave words were her only refuge.

He'd stared at her for a long time. Wendy thought that perhaps he was assessing her, trying to find some flaw in her words... but there was something calculating in his expression, something that she did not like at all and made her incredibly uncomfortable. And then a slow smirk twisted his lips. "I wouldn't be so sure of that if I were you."

She didn't like to admit it, not even to herself, but Kyle had terrified her. Not only in that moment, but throughout their rivalry. There was something... _ruthless _about him. An unyielding determination, tempered by cunning and intellect. And that made him _dangerous_.

He was up to something.

Wendy had hated to spy on Stan, but she didn't trust Kyle. It struck her how strange that was, that someone whom she'd considered a friend through her youth could so easily become such a formidable enemy. She could only assume this to be at least partially Cartman's fault; with his constant harassment of the Jewish boy through the years, it only made sense that Kyle's reaction to threatening situations would be conditioned so virulently.

And so she had watched them - watched them talking, laughing, goofing off and acting like the rambunctious teenaged boys they were. She watched them making out when they thought no one would see, watched them exchange small affections that couldn't even incite Wendy's jealousy because it was so completely different from how Stan interacted with her.

When Stan was with Wendy, there were defined roles that they - _unconsciously _- fell into. He was physically larger and stronger than her, so it was only natural for him to take on a protective air, like she was something precious to be guarded from anything and anyone that might cause her harm; his arms slipped around her waist or shoulders with such ease, as if they were perfectly molded for one another. No, it wasn't _as if _- it simply _was_. And it was just further proof for Wendy that they were meant to be together.

But when he was with Kyle... It wasn't the same dynamic. They weren't molded for one another, not like she and Stan were, but somehow it didn't seem to matter. There was no role for either of them to fall into, other than the roles of friend and boyfriend that had become merged and blurred, and because of that... because of that, they were afforded some strange sort of _freedom_. It took some time for Wendy to realize that was what it was. They could choose how to fit together, instead of relying on size or shape to determine it for them. They weren't meant to be together, but they chose it anyway.

Wendy knew she should have been furious about this. But where there should have been jealous rage was something much more disturbing, and unbearably terrifying.

She had been unable to keep watching them anymore, she couldn't bear it. And yet, she had still been quite aware of what they did together even if she did not see it for herself; Kyle's triumphant smiles and Stan's guilty eyes spoke loudly enough for their actions.

She hadn't been surprised when Stan finally made his decision.

And although she resented him for that choice, and Kyle infinitely more so because she _knew _that he had intentionally broken the rules, there had been nothing left for her to do. She had said that she wouldn't be involved in something like _that _and she'd meant it; at least Stan had the decency to end it without bringing to light things Wendy would just as soon leave to the shadows.

Still, as she waited on her lonely streetcorner, she couldn't help but wonder,_ where did that leave her? _Stan and Kyle, they had each other, had _chosen _each other. Wendy... she was just left to her unresolved feelings, left to shove them far beneath to places they could touch her, couldn't hurt her, because there was _nothing left for her to do_. And yet, as far away as she tried to keep them, they whipped and whirled around her like the wind, and all she could do was ignore it as best she could. She was good at doing that; it was an acquired skill.

"Lady, are you getting on or what?"

Wendy hadn't noticed the bus pull up, not until the driver spoke directly to her. Instead of answering, she just shook her head and turned away.

She didn't feel like heading to an unknown future just yet. How could she face a future when she couldn't even deal with her past? She was still chained to that past, to Stan, even if Stan had cut off his end to her tether.

But if that was true... how was she supposed to free herself from broken bonds?

Maybe _freedom _was really just another word for invisible chains.

* * *

_So this is my new freedom?  
It's funny, I don't remember being chained.  
But nothing seems to make sense anymore...  
I shouldn't be holding on, but I'm still holding on for you._

-- Savage Garden,_ "The Lover After Me"_


End file.
